


Who I Am Hates Who I've Been

by LettersToShakespear



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Aha, Angsty Stuff, Blow Jobs, Coffee Shop, I don't really have much to tag right now, M/M, Medieval AU, Multi, Snarky boys, add as i go, lots of feelings within, prompt me ;)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:13:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1716758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LettersToShakespear/pseuds/LettersToShakespear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story Abandoned</p><p>Random Mitchers/Britchell ficlets that I'm sharing with the world :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm not sure how often I will update this because I'm kind of swamped with working and also updating other fics (which I'm having a rough go at for the moment). 
> 
> But, I would LOVE for anyone to come by on my tumblr to leave me a prompt! It might make it easier for me to actually write more things for this if I have something to go off of! Hit me up at Letterstoshakespear.tumblr.com! :D 
> 
> The fic title comes from the song created by Reliant K. Check it out if you're interested! :) 
> 
> And with that, I will leave you to it to read! Thanks for stopping by! <3 
> 
> P.S. Sorry for any mistakes, this hasn't been read through by anyone else. :)

* * *

 

Anders Johnson has spent quite a large part of his life living for himself, putting his needs before anything else and not giving a damn about who he hurts in the process. His childhood had been shit, and his family life these days was complicated at best. It wasn’t often that he thought about others, took into account their feelings and thoughts. Hell, he barely took his own into account. It had always been so much easier to drown it all out with alcohol, using Bragi to wind his way in and out of trouble and between the legs of many a man and woman.

 

It had been years since he’d allowed himself to care, to give a damn about anything besides himself and his goldfish. But leaning here against the doorway of his bedroom, looking in on the brunet sleeping in his bed... he feels something. It’s terrifying really, the sudden ache that’s building up in his chest, waves of warm heat spreading through his veins and he can’t stop the thoughts pouring through his mind, Bragi speaking golden words of passion through his mind.

 

He’s never felt the way that he does for Mitchell for anyone else before. He’s never taken the time to appreciate the subtle curve of anothers body, the dips along a spine or the gorgeous mounds of a pert ass. Anders had never realized that the way the sheets draped around a body, kissed skin, was an art form, one that took his breath away. The blue eyed god had never taken the time to look at warm smiles, to wrap his arms around a slim waist and just hold on tight, fingers digging into hips and face burrowed into the curve of anothers neck.

 

He has never allowed himself to cry out with abandon, lips parting and allowing another to enter him, spine arching upwards and legs spread wide open. Never let someone lick him open, scruff burning his ass and warm wetness that makes him mewl like a kitten. He’s never had someone who has taken the time to make him feel special, feel loved. And Mitchell is the only person that he has ever tried to please, the only one that he has ever attempted to keep happy and loved.

 

Mitchell is beautiful, all silky curls and warm smile, long fingers and jutting hipbones that he loves to bite and lick, leaving dark bruises that won’t disappear for days. He loves the Sensitive nipples that he can suck and lick on for hours, turning Mitchell into a whimpering, shivering mess.

 

And Mitchell is _his,_ his vampire, his love, and Anders knows that Mitchell is it for him. It terrifies the fuck out of him, makes his heart speed up and gut twist into knots because he is so fucked up. Mitchell might be a vampire, a man who had killed and maimed innocent people. But Anders was selfish, so very much so. But he’s changing, trying so hard because Mitchell means so much. He knows that he doesn’t show it enough, that he doesn’t tell Mitchell that he loves him.

 

Anders has never been good with sharing his emotions, and he might be the God of poetry but he never seems to be able to say the right thing. It all comes out wrong and he comes off as an ass and a dick, just like everyone has always told him. He doesn’t mean to be like that, but after spending so long trying to defend himself, build up walls that no one could crush, he doesn’t know _how_ to let anyone in. So he reverts to bad habits, and it _kills_ him when he says the wrong things, Mitchells eyes flickering with a glint of sadness and hurt before he pushes it away, plasters a smile on his face and continues on.

 

Instead of trying to speak, Anders tries to make it up in his actions, with the way he’ll hug Mitchell, come up behind him and wrap his arms around his waist. Kiss him softly and curl up on the couch next to him, watching that god forsaken Hustle show. He’ll run his fingers through Mitchells curls, loving the silky feel and well, that affection might partially be for his own benefit. He may or may not be addicted to the feeling.. but that’s beside the point.

 

The point is he’s looking at the one person who means the most in the world to him, and he’s terrified, standing on the precipice of wanting to run away, save himself, because everything always ends in heartbreak.. doesn’t it? This can only last for so long and Mitchell is a vampire, has eternal life and Anders will grow old and withered unless they find the Frigg, being restored to full power. It’s fight or flight and Anders head keeps telling him to get the hell out of dodge but the mere though of running makes his very soul throb, edges pulling tight and he _can’t._ It’s terrifying and visceral, but he _is_ a selfish ass and he needs Mitchell, needs him like a drug.

 

So he walks over to the bed, staring at his lovely monster that is splayed out like starfish, Anders’ pillow bunched under his arm as he breathes gently. The God stands and watches, fingers reaching out slowly to slide through lovely curls. Mitchell stirs gently at the touches, muscles rippling then releasing as he leans into the light caressing. Anders can’t help but to smile at the light little huffs that Mitchell releases, wriggling against the bed before he lets out a grumble.

 

Quietly taking off his clothes, Anders slips in under the sheets, pulling his pillow away from Mitchell only to replace it with his own body. The blond presses his body along the lean line of Mitchell’s, leg draping up and over his waist. His vampire stirs at that, brown eyes opening slowly and blinking away sleep.

 

“Anders?”

 

“Hm. Hey Dracula.”

 

Mitchell huffs at the endearment, pushing lightly at Anders before he curls on his side, arms reaching out for the blond and encircling him in warm arms. It’s still a surprise to him that he can feel so safe in the brunets arms, face pressed into his neck and placing little kisses along the pale column. Long fingers run up and down his back, dipping into the crease of his spine, sending light shivers through his body.

 

There’s still that seed of terror and fear twisting around inside, but it’s pushed aside by the warmth that spreads through him when Mitchell moves to press sweet kisses along his jaw, rubbing their noses together before lips move softly against his own. It’s soft and sweet and it’s still so new to him because all he knows are rough, biting kisses. Ones that are all about sex and nothing about intimacy.

 

“I love you, John Mitchell.”

 

The words ghost between him and Mitchell stops breathing, pulls back slowly and looks into bright blue eyes because he’s surprised. Anders isn’t one to bare himself open, to speak such raw words and Mitchell feels warm and so, so good, dopey smile gracing his lips and brown eyes lighting up with the warmest look.

 

“I love you too, Anders Johnson.”

 

And it’s enough, enough to push away any doubts that Anders has because this.. the glowing warmth that is inside of him, the wide grin that is on Mitchell’s face... it’s all worth it.

 

Not matter what, it’s always worth it.


	2. Coffee Shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mitchers and Coffee Shop Au for archer-and-lionprince on tumblr!
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes and errors, prompts are edited sloppily by meee :) 
> 
> Feel free to stop over at letterstoshakespear on tumblr to shoot me a prompt! 
> 
> With out further ado, I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think ;)
> 
> PSA: For further clarification since publishing this chapter; this is an AU. And in this AU of mine, Mitchell is not a Vampire, and Anders is not a Norse God to be.

* * *

 

Anders Johnson is seventeen years old. Seventeen and 10 months, to be exact, and eighteen can’t come soon enough. Eighteen means that he can finally leave home, find his own way in the world and get the hell away from his less than stellar family life.

 

He was tired of it all, the yelling and the screaming, the cruel words and harsh hands of his father. His mother that didn’t lift a finger to put a stop to it, allowing her drunk of a husband to beat not only her but her children. Anders always thought that mothers were supposed to protect their children at all costs. That’s what he thought when he was younger at least, still full of the innocent hope of a child. He knew better than that now. The world was a cruel, hard place; the only person you could ever count on was yourself.

 

His family life is how he finds himself at the coffee shop again, books splayed out on a table as he tries to study for his classes. Final exams are coming up, and he wants to finish off well in school. It’s the only thing he really has control over in his life. When he’d come home, his parents had already been at each other’s throats, yelling and screaming followed by the shattering sounds of glass. He didn’t stick around.

 

Anders had been at it for a few hours now, and the Barista was eyeing him with a look that clearly said he better buy something else if he wanted to stick around for any longer. He buys something random, an icy cold caramel thing with lots of whipped cream on the top. With how much time he spends there, you’d think he’d remember the names of things, but he doesn’t care to learn them at this point. Everyone who works there knows his usual order and he doesn’t have the desire to remember something that the baristas are paid to know. Ty says he’s a pretentious twat, but he can’t bring himself to truly care.

 

So he’s attempting to do his maths (and failing miserably), until he gives up after about five minutes and instead decides to stare out the window. It’s pouring outside, rain coming down in thick torrents that swirl and twist in the windy air. The weather is half the reason he’s still at the coffee shop, trying to wait out the storm so he doesn’t have to walk back home in it. He’s surprised then, when he sees a distinctly male figure walking down the street, head bent down and covered with a hood, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. Anders watches as the man hesitates at the door of the café, taking a moment before he reaches out a fingerless gloved hand to pull at the door.

 

He’s completely drenched, coat sopping wet and hanging limply on his frame. Anders’ interest is piqued and he watches intently, eyes zeroing in as the man reaches up and pulls back the hood of his jacket. A spill of black messy curls tumbles out and he wants nothing more than to thread his fingers through them, to see if they are as silky as they look. Deft fingers undo the buttons of his jacket, pulling the soaked garment off to reveal a plaid button up shirt. Overall he looks like a sad wet puppy, all wide brown eyes and small frown upon his face. A sexy wet puppy, that is. If puppies could be sexy. Which might border on bestiality, but really, Anders doesn’t have time to think about the ramifications behind his thoughts.

 

Watching the man, he takes a sip of his drink and takes in the rest of him, tight fitting jeans and leather boots; A bad boy, then. Anders is contemplating his ass when he goes to check out his face again, almost choking on his drink when he meets a brown-eyed gaze that consists of a single eyebrow quirked up. Usually he wouldn’t care about getting caught checking someone out, but he can tell just by the looks of the man that he doesn’t take anyone’s shit.

 

Blue eyes dart back down to the books, already hearing all the pretty baristas exclaiming at the mans state of soaked glory, corralling him towards the front counter. He still has quite a few math problems to finish and it’s not going to get done by him ogling at the gorgeous man, that’s for damn sure. It takes quite a lot of willpower, but he manages to get himself to look at the problems, even scrawling out an answer or two onto the sheet of paper before him. That is until he notices the contrast of light and shadow upon his paper, his fingers gripping his pencil as he looks up to find gorgeous incarnate standing before him, bright smile plastered on his face and a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

“Mind if I join?”

 

For a moment he’s left speechless, and that in itself should be a sign for Anders to run as fast as he can, for if there is one thing that Anders Johnson is good at, it’s talking. It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts, the shock of it all throwing him completely off kilter.

 

“The more the merrier, I suppose.”

 

“Can’t say I’m all that merry at the moment, being sopping wet and all.”

 

He almost points out that the smile on his face completely goes against that statement, but he doesn’t.

 

“Swooning woman falling down to offer you cheap napkins to dry off with doesn’t make you overcome with joy? For shame, you’ll crush the poor ladies hearts.”

 

“Can’t say that they do. But you checking out my ass more than makes up for that I suppose. I’m Mitchell, by the way.”

 

The man – Mitchell – responds so easily, self-assured little smile on his face and a dangerous look in his eyes. Confidence oozes off of him, sharp wit something that Anders is undeniably attracted to. Hell, the more he speaks to Mitchell, the better this experience gets.

 

“Anders.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you Anders. So tell me. Is a coffee shop all that conducive to getting homework done?”

 

“Well I was doing just fine until you walked in and distracted me. It’s not often that a mysterious, sopping wet individual comes into the shop.”

 

Mitchell smiles, takes a sip of his steaming coffee then grips the glass in his hands, all the better to catch the seeping warmth into his skin. It’s fun, flirting with Mitchell, and it serves as a lovely distraction from the current hell of his life. The curly haired Irishman laughs.

 

“Am I one of the special ones to get the full treatment of being eye-fucked as soon as I walked through the door then? Or is that something that’s complimentary for every lad and lass that enters?”

 

He can’t help but to laugh, smile breaking out upon his face and he feels it in his stomach, bubbling out and making his lungs ache. Anders hasn’t laughed like this for a long time. He can’t remember the last.

 

“Only those who are deserving receive that special treatment. Consider yourself lucky to have caught my attention.”

 

“Oho, big shot are we?”

 

“I like to think of myself as picky,” Anders shrugs, light smile on his lips. Brown eyes flash, Mitchells smile taking on a decidedly wicked look.

 

“I have to say, your taste thus far seems to be superb.”

 

It’s easy banter, back and forth flirtations that make Anders’ stomach curl with heat that floods through the rest of his body, spreading through his fingertips and making him tingle all over. Not even the cold liquid of his drink can cool the warmth he feels.

 

“I see someone’s spent quite a lot of time admiring himself in the mirror.”

“You could say that. Think I’ll head to the loo and admire myself even more,” Mitchell winks, standing up from his chair. Before he leaves he shoots Anders a heated look, that dangerous, hungry expression that sets him on fire. Anders doesn’t even think about it, stands up from his chair and follows after Mitchell. Who is he, after all, to deny such a gorgeous man of any pleasure he may want?

 

As soon as he pushed the door of the mens room open, he feels hands latch onto his shoulders, body slammed lightly against the wall as lips crash against his own. The kiss is rough, hard sucking and biting teeth, tongues that battle and lick inside one anothers mouths. Somewhere in the mix he finds his hands trailing up and down Mitchell’s sides, fingers gripping into the fabric of his shirt.

 

After what feels like forever, Mitchell pulls away, brown eyes hazy with lust as he looks down at the shorter teen before him. Anders looks utterly debauched, lips parted and swollen, blue eyes glazed as they blink slowly and blond hair tousled.

 

“Well it’s good to know your mouth is good for more than talking.” Mitchells words ghost along his skin, lips running over the curve of his jaw before he’s back to kissing Anders. It’s rough and hard, but Anders soaks it up, lets himself crash and burn against Mitchell because the Irishman is so very good at making him shudder and moan.

 

He’s pinned against the wall and he can’t help himself from grinding up against Mitchell, crotch pressed against his thigh because he’s too short to grind on anything else. Mitchell laughs against his lips, pulls back and tugs him along.

 

“C’mon, handicap stall.”

 

Anders doesn’t even take a second to question it, slips in behind Mitchell and slides the lock home. He’s a little surprised when Mitchell doesn’t instantly pounce on him, body twisting around so that he can figure out what said man is doing when he should be all _over_ him. Mitchell leans against the wall, eyes glinting mischievous and teeth bared in a wild grin.

 

“Ever been blown in a bathroom stall before?”

 

“First time for everything I suppose.”

 

Mitchell smiles, drops down onto the floor without preamble and crawls over to Anders.

The sight leaves him openmouthed and wide eyed. Long fingers tug at his belt, eyes zeroed in on the obvious erection hidden away beneath his jeans. Anders leans back against the wall, raises his hips away and allows Mitchell to slide the jeans down to his thighs. More than anything, he wants those beautiful fingers gliding on his cock, touching and circling him, dragging down his foreskin and-

 

“Someone wants to come out and play,” Mitchell teased, blowing the hot words a mere inch from his straining erection.

 

“Then why don’t you fucking do something about it?” Anders snarls, desperate for any kind of contact at this point. He’s a horny teenager and he fucking needs _anything_ at this point.

  
“Alright, bossy.”

 

“Oh fuck of you – hah!” The words are cut off by a sharp gasp, Anders hands automatically curling into the wild tangle of hair before him. It’s exactly as silky as he imagined it to be, better, even. But he doesn’t think of that for long, now when there is a pair of lips mouthing at his clothed erection, fabric dragging along his length in torturous friction. It’s enough of a tease to make him groan quietly, fingers flexing into thick curls. It’s wonderful, and he almost _whines_ when he feels Mitchells mouth pull away.

 

He wants to feel embarrassed, but he can’t bring himself to be when he has sex on legs between his own. Anders doesn’t have time to be embarrassed, too engrossed in what is going on between his thighs.

 

“Quiet or we’ll get caught, Andy.”

 

“Why don’t you stop thinking about that and get to sucking my cock, _Mitchy_.” His tone is laced with raw disdain, and if he wasn’t about to have that gorgeous mouth on him, he’d have more than a few things to say about the Irishman calling him Andy of all things.

 

But right now he doesn’t give a flying fuck, not when those hands are pulling down his boxer briefs, his cock jutting out red and thick. Anders can’t help but to watch Mitchell, taking in the look upon his face. His cock jumps at the sight of a pink tongue poking out to lick lush lips.

 

“Make sure you’re quiet,” Mitchell warns one more time. His world explodes.

 

The first lick is from root to tip, a hot slide that makes him drag in a slow breath. He feels like all of the neurons in his brain are misfiring, mouth opened in a wide oh when Mitchell drags back his foreskin, lips wrapping around the head. Anders can’t help the low moan that escapes his lips, nails digging into Mitchells scalp as he tries to keep his hips from moving forward.

 

Mitchell tongues at his slit, his mouth slowly moving down his length with a soft suction that is slowly driving him up a wall. Heated warmth spreads through the pit of his stomach, breathing hitching and he is a slew of hormones, pleasure coursing through him and he wants _more_ and less all at once, wants to press forward and moan as loud as he wants but he _can’t_ because if he does they’ll be caught.

 

And Mitchell is _killing him_ , one hand gripping at his hip and another stroking at the sensitive base of his cock. He meets Mitchells eyes only for a moment, heated expression and the urging of his hands causing him to thrust shallowly into his plush mouth. It’s a slow build of heat, low moans escaping and he can’t help it, not when Mitchell is sucking him all the way down, saliva dripping down his cock and he _can’t_ be quiet, he _can’t_ and-

 

The bathroom door opens. Anders feels his breath catch in his throat, eyes going wide because he doesn’t need charges or the police to get involved because his father will kill him. So he stops what he’s doing, tries to not make a noise but Mitchell is still on his cock, unmoving but the warmth is enough and fuck, it’s not like he can deny that this entire situation is kinky as fuck.

 

“Is someone in here?” It’s a hesitant question, and he knows from spending so much time that it’s one of the workers. They’ve both been gone for far to long.

 

That’s when Mitchell starts sucking him off again, eyes glinting whilst he bobs his head up and done, tongue working him over and hands trailing down between his thighs. Fingers glide towards his heavy sack, rubbing the sensitive skin with firm strokes. He’s caught by surprise and he doesn’t have time to catch the strangled moan that leaves his lips, body shuddering and they are so beyond fucked.

 

“What the hell is going on in there? You need to come out right now!” The voice is flustered but Mitchell doesn’t stop, and Anders honestly can’t bring himself to push him away, not when there’s a guy standing right on the other side of the door, when he’s so fucking hard from this entire situation that he knows he’s going to come quicker than he has in a long time.

 

He doesn’t bother to hide his gasps for air anymore, ignoring the banging on the door and allowing himself to roll his hips into Mitchells mouth, eyes squeezing shut as he throws his head back, shooting his load into the awaiting mouth with a harsh groan. Everything is a hazy white out mess, but he feels Mitchell fumbling at his clothes, tucking him back into his briefs and zipping him up with a small smile.

 

When they finally open the door it’s to find a traumatized youth and a more than pissed off manager. Needless to say, they get the hell out of there, Mitchell helping to grab Anders shit as they book it before the police can be called. He considers it a small blessing that it’s not longer raining.

 

By the time they stop running they are both out of breath, dumping Anders things in a heap onto a park bench. He’s trying to come to terms with how quick all of this has happened, still trying to get over post orgasm bliss and the adrenaline of being caught. When he looks over at Mitchell, it’s to see that he’s wearing a wide, shit eating grin. He scoffs.

 

“I hope you know that I’m never going to be able to go back to that café ever again. It was my favorite, too.”

 

Mitchell at least has enough grace to look a little guilty, but it’s not much. He doesn’t reply at first, snatches something off of the park bench. It takes Anders a moment to realize that it’s his phone.

 

He goes to grab at it but Mitchell dances away, fingers typing away before he hands it back to Anders.

 

“Now you have my number. Call me and I’ll help you find a new place to do your homework.”

 

Mitchell winks, and Anders can’t help but to shake his head, snorting at his antics.

 

“Alright. But for now, you can walk me home. It’s the least you can do after debauching me in a public bathroom.”

 

“Lead the way, blondie.”

 

Anders can’t help but to think that this might turn out to be something beautiful.

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone! I hope you enjoyed! <3


	3. Medieval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt fill for the lovely astaraiches-oisinn :) 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> And by popular demand on tumblr, I'll probably be getting around to writing a sequel to this at some point :) 
> 
> Oh, and sorry for any mistakes! This work comes to you all in its natural state of creation.

* * *

 

The stories of the forest were well known by the peasants and gentry alike; it’s black reputation preceded it, with it’s twisted trees and thin carriage paths. Some said dark creatures lived within, that the trees came alive at night with their twisted finger like branches to snarl into the clothes of passerby and ensnare them.

Many had gone missing within the forest; children, stable-boys, even the gentry. All never to be seen again; mothers wailing for their lost lads and the highborn slowly cutting away at the treeline that always seemed to grow back. The peasants left offerings outside of the walls, bowls of chicken blood and clay jars of milk.

Anders had grown up on the stories, hearing them all from his nursemaid form the time he was old enough to understand words. He’d just wanted to explore a bit, to see if maybe all the stories were true.

But he’d become lost, you see, turning this way and that until he no longer knew where he was. The trees all looked the same, their barren branches curling softly in the wind. He feels naked and alone out here, fingers curling around the sword he keeps at his side. It’s slowly turning into night, and the shadows play wicked and nasty tricks upon him.

He doesn’t notice the mans presence at first. Not until he turns around the air compressing out of his longs at the beautiful sight before him. He’s wearing crisp dark breeches, his cloak the most beautiful shade of blue.

Dark clustered curls, lovely lips and an artfully stubbled face. His eyes are the most beautiful chocolate brown that he has ever seen, a dark twinkle deep within.

"Wh-who are you?"

"I think the better question is, who are _you_? The forest is dangerous, you know. Haven’t you heard the stories?”

"I got.. got lost, you see. I just wanted a bit of a look, and now I seem to be unable to find my way back."

"Hm. Fortunately for you, I know the way. But it comes with a price."

Something tells him that this man doesn’t want riches nor wealth.

"Okay."

"First, your name."

"Anders."

"Mitchell. Follow me."

The man, Mitchell, turns his back and begins to walk away. He is enraptured, head screaming for him not to follow but he does anyways. He is a moth following golden flame.

It feels like hours pass he follows Mitchell, tripping and falling more than once. His hands cut open and begin to ooze out little drops of red, palms pressing against his clothes in an attempt to stem the flow. Mitchell stiffens for but a moment before they continue on.

He’s shocked when they abruptly exit the forest, the sky inky black and the walls of his home standing stark before him, lit up with torches of flame.

"Thank you, I-"

Breathe escapes him as he meets a black eyed gaze, lips pulled back to reveal shining white fangs. He stumbles back, gasping as Mitchell advances upon him.

"I suck you dry right now, or you come to me in the forest in a years time. Which will it be?"

Anders heart is pounding in his chest, eyes wide as he looks upon the creature before him. He barely manages a stuttered response.

"I- a year!"

He doesn’t see Mitchell move, just feels the sudden sharp pain at his throat, breath hitching before it turns to a whimper of pain. He can feel his very essence being drained from him, head spinning as he starts to go a bit limp.

Mitchell detaches himself, moves to look at him before licking against the seem of his lips. He kisses back, tongues tangling and iron tinged liquid smearing across their faces. Anders isn’t even sure of who he is anymore.

"One year to get your affairs in order and to say goodbye to your loved ones. Then you come to the forest to stay with me."

"One year."

He’s left pressed against the wall with the words ringing in his ears. One year.

* * *

 

 


End file.
